


Plastic Hearts

by omgpeachsnapple



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV) Needs a Hug, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Gentle Emet, Implied Sexual Content, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgpeachsnapple/pseuds/omgpeachsnapple
Summary: He has no qualms about watching her from the shadows.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Plastic Hearts

Plastic hearts are bleeding

Lost in black hole conversation

Sunrise suffocation

Keep me up all night

I just wanna feel

I just wanna feel something

But I keep feeling nothing all night long

—

Plastic Hearts

2021

—

He has no qualms about watching her from the shadows. Even when she sits on her bed, her hands folded, looking overwhelmed and dreadfully alone. Even when she removes her white mage robes, leaving her only in her small clothes. Even when she removes  _ those  _ to sink into a warm bath the Exarch had certainly ordered prepared for her. 

Even when she speaks to someone at the window. 

It is a very curious thing, a ritual performed almost every night. He at first thinks she is, for whatever reason, recounting her days out loud. But there are the pauses, the smiles, the nods to unheard questions that meant she was speaking with someone. 

It is really the most interesting thing. 

He follows her earnest gaze and focuses and is wholly surprised when he sees the faint orange and red and silver spark of a soul that is the twin to her own. 

So that is the way of it. They found each other. 

It is so, so tempting to simply rejoin them. Such a simple thing to gently reach out, push the other into her. 

She could be that much closer ...

He holds back because then she would be alone again, deprived a dear friend and he knows only too well what  _that_ is like. He is loath to do such a thing to her, even as he is loath to admit it. 

And, after all, they would be one again soon enough, once the Source and the First were Rejoined. 

The faint color beside the window dissipates and she presses a delicate hand to her mouth to cover her yawn. Unceremoniously, she flops back onto her bed, her head hitting the pillow.She is asleep within seconds, her breathing slow and even, her round face relaxing in a way he had yet to see. For all his spying, he never watched her sleep. 

He struggles with himself for several long moments before he slips from the shadows, drawing closer to her. Something stirs in the remains of his heart when he sees the freckles dancing across her face. 

He hesitates briefly before removing one glove to tuck an errant hair behind her ear. He runs his hand gently, reverently down her cheek, the feel of her soft skin sending a ripple of fire coursing through him. 

And since he is being impulsive, he bends and softly touches his lips to hers. Again, that fire and he feels he will burst into a veritable blaze of confetti. 

He does not pull back when her eyes flutter open, her gaze bleary and unfocused as she regards him. 

“Is this a dream?” she whispers against his lips and he clamps down on a shudder of goosebumps at the hoarseness of her voice. 

“Yes, love,” he says, with a tenderness he thought long behind him. 

Her eyes close again but she returns his kiss, her lips parting under his. She smells like sleep, like her achingly familiar self. He wants more of her, all of her, until she is pliant and vulnerable underneath him, until they are joined with him inside of her and he cannot tell where she ends and he begins. His blood burns, boils inside him and he is close, so close to taking what should be his. 

He sets his jaw, willing himself away from her. Her finding him here wouldn’t do, certainly not like  _ that_. And he is not in the habit of forcing himself on women. 

Even the one who had so long ago belonged to him. 

She turns her face into the pillow, the ghost of a secret half-smile flitting across her lips and does not stir as he rises to retreat once more to the shadows. 

For the next several days, Emet-Selch does not watch her at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> If I have to suffer with my angst, then so does Emet.


End file.
